Wake Us And We Drown
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
Summary: The secret of the Stargate is revealed-- but at the cost of whom?


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"We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed in seaweed red and brown,

'Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

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-T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock"

DATE BEGUN: August 2nd, 2003

DATE FINISHED: September 2nd, 2003

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Wake Us, And We Drown 1/1

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com

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Eight o'clock in the evening, by the reckoning of local eastern seaboard time. Just a little backwards planet, mostly water, orbiting a sun that offered no life to it's eight other satellites. Earth, a little word that's gotten back into circulation in the more populated parts of the galaxy; the first home, previously regulated to myth, the world of the Tau'ri.

They were sitting down in their homes, these Tau'ri, these humans, clustering around their televisions, touching each other a little more than usual. Apprehension was thick in their throats, it buzzed between phone lines and in dormitory lounges, where students fought for a good seat, talking high handed philosophy while ads for Coca Cola flickered over the screen. At work, men and women in pressed suits or soiled sanitation garb were pulling up the internet and clustering around the car radio. On the Ginza in Tokyo, thousands of eyes raised to follow the colors playing over the large, building-mounted screens. People stop on the streets of Detroit, New York, San Jose, Richmond, a thousand cities big and small, watching through the store window at Best Buy. 

_Hush, listen. _

A poet said the world will end with a whimper.

Some one coughed. _Want a cigarette?_

There were more police on the streets than usual. In small towns, they sat atop the hoods of their patrol cars, listening to the faint, halfhearted weather report as the sun changed the sky to shades people hadn't bothered to look at in a while. Marines, shaded in their lopsided tents, watched with careful attention to detail-- first satellite uplink in a month. This is important. God damn it, you betcha. 

Grab me a beer, will you?

Shh! It's coming on!

#(#)#

The image snaps, changes, in the middle of a Toyota commercial-- a woman's smiling face, dark hair clustered around her heart-shaped cheeks in careful curls. Her gray eyes are too bright, her teeth too white, to hide the slight shaking of her hands.

Excitement? Fear?

Hell, the journalistic opportunity of a lifetime. 

"Hello," she says softly, voice all full of careful tones. "I'm Faye Sturgeon, of NBC news."

The camera shifts. "I'm Peter Geyman, of CNN." At first glance, he's a young man, but there's gray around his temples and a few too many years around his hazel eyes.

"I'm Tonomi Takeyama." Another woman, high cheek bones and ambered-oriential eyes. Her feathery black hair is pulled harshly away from her face, but her smile is loose. "And this is a very special broadcast."

"Indeed it is, Tonomi," Peter rejoins gracefully. "To those of you at home, our three networks would like to apologize in advance for the haphazard nature of this program. With so little time, the journalistic need for information and accurate reporting took precedence over presentation."

"I don't need to tell you that this has been an interesting week for the United States in particular, and for the world in general." Faye inclines her head towards Tonomi, barely keeping her finely polished nails from clicking against the news desk. 

"Just this Monday, under pressure from groups in both the House and the Senate," Tonomi's smile wavers, "the President shed light on what is perhaps the most extensive coverup in history. The existence of the Stargate Program."

"Tonight, for the first time," Peter puts in, "we'll be speaking directly to people at the center of this amazing and controversial phenomenon. According to the President's official debriefing, the Stargate Program in focused on a device sharing the same name."

"This device," Faye clears her throat, "facilitates travel between this world and others millions, even trillions, of miles across the galaxy."

"Sound like Science Fiction?" Peter laughs gently, "It's not. Since the 1940's, the government has been suspected of hiding alien contact from the general populace. Now, it turns out it's true."

"SG-1 is the flagship team at Area 52, where the Stargate Command is located," Tonomi visibly straightens, perhaps eager to continue. "They have been cleared by Pentagon command to speak with us regarding this startling revelation."

The screen begins to fade, "Now, may we present you, the American people, and thousands of other viewers around the world, with this first, exclusive interview..."

Lights on. In a charmingly fake library atmosphere, the reporters have been arranged opposite the now-famous SG-1. Under the harsh glare of hastily applied camera makeup, Teal'c's face is impassive as ever, meeting the gaze of his invisible audience with ease, despite the fact his slave marking gleams unguarded on his brow. Beside him, Colonel O'Neill sits straight and tall, his fidgeting within his dress blues barely noticeable. Major Carter is also dressed immaculately, hair newly trimmed-- she and her commanding officer flank Daniel on either side with a faint protective air. The civilian sits with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, smiling with an endearing sort of nervousness.

"We are sitting here now with the flag ship team of Stargate Command," Peter reiterates, gesturing from left to right, "Teal'c, of Chulak; Colonel Jonathan O'Neill, USAF; Doctor Daniel Jackson; and Major Doctor Samantha Carter, also of the USAF."

"First of all," Faye jumps in, "I'd like to say good morning and welcome to all of you." There are faint noises of thanks from the group-- despite their rather human looks, they seem almost alien, larger than life, next to the groomed and inquisitive reporters.

"I'd like to start with you, Dr. Jackson," Tonomi smiles gently, reassuringly as Daniel pushes his glasses further up on his nose. "Perhaps you'd like to educate us on the history of the stargate." She laughs into her hand, "As much as you're allowed to, that is."

"Uh, thank you." Blue eyes shift to the faces of all three interviewers. "Well-- um, yes. The best place to begin, I suppose, would be in Ancient Egypt." His eyes seem to flutter closed for a moment as he warms to his subject-- cozies up to it, really, as if an old friend. "Imagine our ancestors faced with a technology so beyond themselves that... well, naturally, if you saw a space ship, one of your first, gut reactions might be to think it was God."

"I suppose so," Peter admits faintly.

"Well... Ra--"

A flicker from Faye, "Ra?"

"Yes," Daniel's cheeks pinken slightly, "the Egyptian god of the Sun, Ra..."

"You're saying that this "god" is rooted in actual historical fact?" Peter's question is quick.

"Perhaps not originally. I believe that these aliens assumed the identity of deities already being worshiped..."

"Dr. Jackson, are you familiar with the works of Erik Von Daniken?" Peter interrupts once more, leaning forward. His gesture is mirrored quickly by Jack.

"'Scuse me. Let me speed things up a bit here," the Colonel holds up a finger. "First of all, Dr. Jackson's original theory, which he published before he was brought into the Stargate program, said that aliens built the pyramids. And... uh," he shrugs, "they did. He's not crazy. He's just _right_. Here's the long and short of it: dying alien comes to earth, takes a human body because he feels like it, proceeds to get a god-complex and enslaves everyone he can get his hands on."

"Ah," Tonomi coughs, "that's very..."

"Basic," Daniel's smile is wide and genuine, "but true. In short, our ancestors rebelled against Ra. He fled through the Stargate with a group of captives, and the humans remaining on Earth buried the portal so he could never return."

"This 'portal'," Sam puts in, "was discovered in Egypt in the 1920's, by one Dr. Langford. For more than fifty years, its mystery remained unsolved."

"Until Daniel here came along," Jack picks up, smiling despite the slight warning in his eyes, "and figured out that the symbols weren't a language. They're constellations."

"That's quite a break through, Dr. Jackson," Tonomi praises.

"Indeed it is," Faye turns towards the Major, "Ma'am, perhaps you'd like to explain this "gate" to us."

"Well," Sam's hands clasp in her lap, "in order to travel in three dimensional space, you need seven points. The point of origin and six intersecting points of the destination. The wormhole creates a temporal distortion, a rip-- if you will-- in the time-space..."

"I don't suppose you have subtitles, do you?" Jack's grin might be a little malicious as he gazes on the blank faces before him. "It's a big ring thing. You dial up a planet. Whoosh. You step through, and-- whamoo!-- you're on another planet."

"Whoosh?" Peter questions weakly. "Whammo?"

"Indeed, it 'whoosh' is an accurate onomatopoetic word," Teal'c speaks evenly, briefly nodding to Jack. "What is a 'whammo'?"

"Ah--" Sam begins, cut off as the camera focuses on Teal'c.

"Mister Teal'c," Faye's teeth are very white in her smile, "you are an alien, are you not?"

"Indeed, I am." Not even so much as a blink.

"Well," Tonomi attempts faintly, "what planet are you from?"

"I am from Chulak, which is located in a system that was formerly a holding of the System Lord known as Apophis."

Peter seizes on this quickly, "One of the first things to hit the news media were the reports of these Goa'uld-- an alien race that we've apparently made into our enemies."

"There's no 'apparently' about it," Jack scoffs, aborting the notion to run a frustrated hand through his hair. "The Goa'uld are everybody's enemy. They're parasites. Snakes."

"Not _technically_ snakes," the Major is quick to remind. "They interface with the neural network of a living being and control their body much like a worker operates a back-hoe. As a sort of robot to to the work he himself can't."

"Naturally," Faye grimaces, "this idea disturbs a lot of people."

"Well it kinda should," the Colonel rolls his eyes.

"It is a frightening concept," Daniel's hands flutter, "but an even more frightening reality. The Goa'uld view humans as cattle. As... just bodies, for their use." His voice hardens, "They have no consideration for life or emotion. They don't understand love, or curiosity. They long to dominate and scavenge."

"You sound very sure of this," Tonomi blinks slowly. 

"It's the truth," Daniel opens his empty palms, "I've seen too many lives destroyed by the Goa'uld."

"Mister Teal'c," Peter redirects, "you once worked for one of these beings."

"Indeed I did."

"Well," Peter glances to his companions, "Don't you have something to say for yourself?"

"Now wait just a--" O'Neill grumbles, preparing to stand.

"Calm yourself, O'Neill," Teal'c manages to be not at all patronizing. "I served as first prime of Apophis for many years. I did terrible things under his command, believing him to be a god. Vindictive, cruel, but all powerful. The Tau'ri showed me the Goa'uld for what they really are," the deep eyes were calm with their hatred, "weak beings that survive only through the suffering of others. How could I not turn away from something so soiled with dishonor?"

"You seem to have very high values, Mister Teal'c," Tonomi wets her lips. "You speak of honor, gods and valor. Many people on this planet have a hard time relating to such black-and-white concepts."

"Indeed, the Tau'ri," Teal'c pauses briefly, "are strange, mercurial creatures. But you posses within you a strength and determination I have not found in any other people in this galaxy. You conceive of things quite beyond the realm of other races, even if you are not to the most technically advanced."

"High words of praise," Faye acknowledged. "The Tau'ri? Why do you call us that?"

"On Chulak, there are legends regarding the first world, the place where Ra originally came into contact with humans." His lips quiver, not a smile, but something like it, "I believe Earth to be that legendary world."

"Wow," Tonomi murmurs, a little giddy. 

"So, what, Mister Teal'c, are you?" Peter speaks into the silence. 

"I am Jaffa. Our race was created to serve the Goa'uld. My kind is enslaved across the galaxy."

"The Goa'uld altered Jaffa physiology to act as a sort of... incubator for their young," Major Carter clarifies.

"That's awful!" Faye shimmers briefly into sympathy. 

"We've heard that you have a physical... spot, showing this modification," Tonomi's eyelashes flutter. "May we see it?"

"That's kind of an invasive question, isn't it?" Daniel sits forward, holding his hand out as if to separate the reporters from the Jaffa.

"It is alright, DanielJackson." Briefly, the camera shows the Colonel's barely contained smile. Teal'c untucks his simple white, button-up shirt to reveal the pouch cut into his stomach. Even Peter looks incredibly pale as the reporters glance worriedly at each other.

"Is one of those things..." the male interviewer swallows audibly, "in there?"

"No. I no longer posses a larval Goa'uld. The scientists at the SGC have discovered a way to remove... Junior without damaging my immune system."

"Junior?" Teal'c's gaze, and thus the reporters', shift to O'Neill. 

The older man snorts, "Well, we had to call it something." A smile seems to flicker amongst the team, shared but hidden from the audience. 

"Alright," Faye shuffles papers in her lap, taking a deep breath. "Let's talk about you next, Colonel O'Neill."

"Not too much to tell," the smile on the officer's face is dangerously charming, "I'm afraid. Born in Chicago. Missed Vietnam-- served in the Gulf War. Now I tag along with the Wonder Twins here," he gestures vaguely to Daniel and Sam, "making sure they don't get into too much trouble. Right, T?"

"Indeed." The raise of an eyebrow, "We encounter many strange things in our search for technology to use against the Goa'uld."

"Surely there's more to it than that, Colonel," Peter shakes his head. 

Another shrug, "Not really." The smile ups a notch, though in charm or danger, it's hard to tell, "Special Ops. Anything more an I'd have to shoot you."

"Very well then," Tonomi's voice is a little high pitched. "What about you, Dr. Jackson?"

"Um..." the young man moves his hands helplessly, "I was born in Egypt. I have a doctorate in archaeology and a PHD in linguistics. I speak several dead tongues, which is why I'm with SG-1. To help with communication."

"I see," Peter glances at his notes, "and SG-1 is a field team, isn't it?"

"We don't really have a classification," Sam smiles, eyes to the heavens, "we just do what needs getting done." At Faye's open mouth, the Major holds up a hand, "I'm afraid I'm not very interesting, either."

"You're selling yourselves rather short, don't you think?" Peter presses. "Surely you couldn't accomplish such extraordinary things without being out of the ordinary yourself. Colonel, is it true that you've been cloned?"

The sharp response is, "Classified." 

"Let's hope to God not," Daniel smiles, trying to smooth ruffled feathers and receiving a brief elbow in return. 

A pause from Peter, focusing on the young man now. "Alright. For example, you-- Dr. Jackson-- our sources report you were married to an alien." A sort of undercurrent passes through the team, though only Jack turns his eyes to Daniel.

"My wife was not an alien," the archeologist says evenly, "she was as human as you or I."

Faye purses her lips, "But she was from another planet, true?"

Something makes most viewers shiver, though there is no change in the image on screen. 

"Yes. She was."

"Can you tell us what happened to her?" Tonomi's holds out her hands, as if in peace offering. 

Again, so simple. A thin veil of sadness. "She died."

"How--"

"Listen," Jack's hand may or may not brush Daniel's knee as he raises it in protest. "That really doesn't have anything to do with the program. Let it rest, why don'tcha?" An exchange of looks between the interviewers, gazes flickering down to notes, as if scenting out a story.

"Very well," Faye concedes. "Teal'c-- why don't you tell us what you think of Earth? Of America? And how about the... tattoo on your forehead."

"It is not a tattoo," the Jaffa corrects, "it is a symbol of my enslavement to Apophis. The design was cut into my flesh with a hot knife, and the gold was poured in to solidify."

"Ouch," Peter mutters.

"Indeed. As to your planet, I am both intrigued and confused by your culture."

"What aspects of our culture?" Tonomi exchanges a smile with Faye.

"Oprah. The human desire to portray violence. Cheeze-its, gummy worms, fishing. Your varying levels of prejudice and acceptance. Jerry Springer, Jay Leno, and late night tv."

"Teal'c, no one understands late night tv," Daniel soothes. 

"You all seem rather close," Peter points out.

"Well, we've been a team for over eight years. It's hard not to get a little chummy." Jack taps his fingers against his knees.

"You must have seen so _much_," Tonomi enthuses. 

"Oh, yeah," Jack rolls his eyes, "We've seen little brain-bugs and a body-switcher, the lie-detector from hell, a bloody-minded addictive light show and trees. We see a LOT of trees."

Several blinks, nervous exhalation of air, "Trees?" 

"The Goa'uld favor worlds where they know humans can survive. Thus... we see a lot of trees," Daniel shrugs.

"Is it true, Dr. Jackson," Faye switches gears swiftly, "that you were dead for over a year?"

"I wasn't _dead_..."

"Your body was, in fact, given a burial. Your friends believed you dead." Peter's tone is like steel pretending to be velvet. 

"That happens a lot," Jack laughs off the heavy, curious stares, "this here," he pats Daniel's shoulder, "is the original come-back kid."

"Major Carter." With a sigh that might be frustration, Faye turns slightly in her chair. "We have reports here saying that you were once possessed by one of these Goa'uld."

"I _was_," Sam stresses uncomfortably.

"How do you know you haven't been compromised?" Peter asks sharply.

Daniel bites his lip, "Jolinar was a Tok'ra... that's different." 

"Jolinar? It had a name?" Faye shivers, seemingly unaware that she is doing so. 

"Yeah, it did," the Major's smile is sad. "She died saving my life." Her tone shifts, professional and cool, "I know that I was not compromised because, when a Goa'uld dies, they release a protein marker into the body that humans don't normally have."

"This marker has been valuable to us a number of times," Teal'c says calmly, "Major Carter's rare status as a surviving host has allowed her to slip under certain defenses."

"The Tok'ra... we don't know much about them," Tonomi rubs her nose briefly, dropping a paper on the floor in her haste to find the section of notes, "is there anything you can tell us?"

"Not really," the Colonel's smile is wooden, "It's classified."

"What about our other supposed allies?"

"Classified," Sam seems a little apologetic-- more of an actress than O'Neill. 

"Technologies we've acquired?" Peter suggests, as his colleagues pipe up with ideas about "possible attacks on earth" and "the influence of aliens on human development."

"Sorry, folks," Jack waves the questions away, "looks like we're almost out of time and you're at the end of your ropes." 

"On the contrary," there is a spark of what is perhaps slight maliciousness in Peter's eyes, striking a little more dimly in Faye's as well. Cut-throat, says the lines of their bodies, the way they straighten their spines; slicing down painfully to the truth and bare bone. "We still have many questions."

"And a limited window in which to ask them," Carter says, not so much with animosity as with calm practicality. 

"Of course," Faye's eyes briefly flicker down the the delicate, rose-linked watch on her wrist. "I imagine you must be very busy."

"Saving the world and all that, you know," Jack mutters with a flicker of his eyes to the ceiling. 

"There are a lot of people," Tonomi says, at first faintly but then latching on to the line she's caught onto in her notes, "that question the safety of the Stargate program. Not to mention the enormous funds needed to support the project. Don't you think that, perhaps, the Gate ought to remain buried, as our ancestors intended? It must have come with a warning label, or something."

"Ah-- something like that," Jackson fumbles briefly with the cuff of his sleeve, "the cover stone put over the Stargate warned of a terrible God, banished to the heavens through the gate."

"So, why toy with something like that?"

"You'll have to ask the government," Daniel blinks, "and I believe... they thought, at first, that the warning was metaphorical."

"Come on," Jack makes an annoyed motion with his hand, "it's human nature. I mean, if somebody writes across a door in big, honk'n letters: 'do not open this door', the first thing you wanna do is open it."

"Do you feel any sort of responsibility for loosing this new threat onto the human race?" Peter inquires with a sort of laced, arsenic kindness, valiantly ignoring the Colonel. Something in the young linguist's eyes seems to flash a deeper blue-- at home, many viewers lean forward, drawn by the forgotten knowledge they glimpse more briefly than a moment. No one sees, in the corner of the screen, the Colonel's eyes narrow like those of a protective, fiery saint. 

Daniel swallows hard. "I--" 

"The human race," Major Carter says with all the authority of a scientist, "is not limited solely to Earth. That's something we're going to have to accept, now. Our species has been scattered across the stars by beings that think of us as a cheep labor force. The Goa'uld have always been a threat, even through the centuries during which the Stargate remained buried. In the nineties, people talked a lot about the 'global community'," she laughs, just a little, "I guess now we're going to have to think about the Galactic Community."

Off screen, a light flashes red-- it is reflected in Peter's rather small black pupils as he clears his throat.

"It seems we only have time for one more question," he says, seeming at once relieved and reluctant. 

"Make it a good one," Jack smiles plastically. The reporters look to each other, aware of the media feeding frenzy that will tumble forward on their heels-- it's a historic interview, one of the first but also one of many. The set of even Tonomi's lips say they want to make a good parting shot. 

"Well." It is Faye who speaks, words striking in her brain with foreboding inspiration. "According to what little information has been declassified, you have saved this planet from potentially fatal disasters at least twice." She pauses, eyes level with those of the team, who have faced far worse than she. "Do you consider yourselves heroes?"

"No," says Daniel with endearing shyness.

O'Neill drawls, "I'm just doin' my job."

"Serving our country," Sam puts in with a ghost of her cadet's starry-eyed wonder.

"Repaying old debts." This from Teal'c, who makes an honorable half-bow from within his chair. 

"We're really just people," shrugs Jackson, "just want to live, and be free and do our jobs. No fuss."

"Oh, Dr. Jackson," Tonomi speaks lowly, with a kind of ominous sympathy, "that, I sincerely doubt."

The lights dim-- but SG-1 is not facing forward in noble, shadowy profile. Rather, the screen fades back to the news desk, and their eyes are on each other. Doctor Jackson's hand moved towards that of Colonel O'Neill, then falls limp and silent at his side. 

But that is only the after image, dying a quick death behind the glass. 

#(#)#

At home, they sat in lay-z-boys and on plump couches, remotes held loosely in hand, or already fallen to the floor. They touched their children's hair-- soft brown, spiky blue. People seemed to be holding their breath on that warm summer evening. Listening. The sunlight came through the chintz curtains and the plain wooden blinds in a yellow-gold stream. Too real, too much like a sepia photo, trapped with faces forever looking towards descendants they would not know or understand. And, also-- there were people in fields, sun-darkened backs bent to work, unknowing or uncaring of the information transmitted around the world by invisible threads. There were wells to be dug, harvest times to prepare for. But the sky was warm and hovering with possibilities for them, as well.

There was homework to be done. TV's flipped off with the casual touch of the cable button; children were excused to bed. Dishes to be done, reports to file. In Hong Kong, the lights in the common room of the all-girl's dorm flickered back on-- voices murmuring and hands reaching for diaries. 

_"I'm a little scared."_ (Shoulders pressed together; a braid twirled nervously around one finger.)

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"Do you want to go swimming?" (Blind hands reached for the gym bag, goggles flipped on as if to bring the world back into some type of focus.)

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"I have to study. "

"Ah, ah. If you weren't always in the nurses' office." (Laughter-- hands gently abuse textbooks. The tapping of pencils.)

_"Shit. Test tomorrow." _

_"Maybe the aliens will invade!"_ (How flamboyant. How melodramatic. Eyes shifted nervously. They held their breath.)

(Weakly) _"Yeah, right!"_

All around the world; the sign of the cross was made across the breast, knees were bent in prayer. Shalom-- peace be with you, and with me, and with the world. Bells rang, paper wishes fluttered in the Shinto trees; 'now I lay me down to sleep'. 

And yet; there was still traffic in the city, motors idling. A young girl was putting on her lip liner sitting in that back up on Cherry Lane, mentally balancing her checking account. Children turned jump ropes in the blacktop jungle. 'The line broke, and the monkey choked and we all went to heaven in a little row boat. Hey, hey!' 

Phone lines thrummed with conversation.

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Can you believe it?

Damned government. Those liberals!

Those conservatives! 

Think about it. The shadow government and Starchamber justice.

'Bout time they 'fessed up.

Do you think...

Children turned their cheap, plastic telescopes to the sky. 'Tattoos' were cut from construction paper and taped on foreheads.

_Big, bad Jaffa gonna come'n git YOU!_

Mo-om, make him stop!

In small towns, couples sat out on their front porches, watching fireflies and June bugs light and hum, feeling small. 

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Put your arms around me, I'm cold.

My, but the stars sure do look strange up there. 

_Sure do._

#(#)#

They held hands in the black-tinted, mirage safety of the armored car; neither daring to look at the other. Only holding on, with their hands hidden by the spread of a suit-coat over Daniel's lap. 

"The airport, airman," the Colonel ordered softly. His finger' flexed in his friend's grip. "We have a plane to catch."

"Me," offered the enthusiastic recruit, his blond hair just a tad too long for regulation, "I'd stick around. You guys are going to be famous. Heroes!" 

But the words only hung flat in the air, stretching out to the future; there came no answering voice.

The driver's gaze flickered away from the rearview mirror, and Jack reached out to touch Daniel's cheek in a way that was like a kiss-- unwilling to consider what the world did to heroes. 


End file.
